One of Those Days
by Spiro911
Summary: John is having an off day. What with being kidnapped during what was suppose to be a great date with Sherlock and being forced to deal with the insane Moritarty. Today is just not his day. Fluffy story of fluffy crackness. Contains British swearing and clothes swapping.


**Author note: Collaboration with a friend of mine for a clothing swap with Sherlock and John. You can find her artwork for this piece on her tumblr: mutiepie .tumblr .com **.

**Please enjoy! **

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It was one of those days, John thought. Those days where nothing went right. Days when you can't find your missing sock or run out of normal pants and are forced to wear the red Y-fronts your boyfriend bought for you for some unknowable reason. Days you go out for a pleasant date only to be grabbed from behind, gagged, and stuffed into the boot of a car along with your also gagged boyfriend who was thrown unceremoniously on top of you.

John sighed into his hands before lifting his head to look around the concrete room. There was one steel door guarded by a massive, mean looking bald bloke. On the same wall was a huge one-way mirror that he expected they were being watched through. A single mattress rested in the corner along with a bucket for relieving oneself.

Probably Moriarty. Definitely Moriarty. When isn't it Moriarty? Christ, he wish he still had his gun with him. But on the bright side he wasn't gagged any more.

John turned to look at his boyfriend/best friend/flatmate/major-pain-in-the-arse. He found Sherlock was staring at the guard, his hands in their usual spot under his chin, looking rather cool and collected. John felt his eye twitch. He had the sudden homicidal urge to punch him.

Before he could, 'Staying Alive' interrupted the tense silence. Yup, this was so Moriarty. The massive guard pulled out a mobile and answered it.

"Hello, sir," there was a pause and the guard furrowed his brow a bit as he listened. "Uh, sure, sir. If that's what you want..." Another pause, "Of course, sir." the guard ended the call and looked up at them.

"Well?" Sherlock said testily. Ah ha, not so calm after all, John thought triumphantly.

"Swap clothes with―" The guard paused awkwardly, "with, uh, him," he waved a hand at John.

John's jaw dropped, what the ever loving fuck. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see that Sherlock's hands had dropped slightly and he was staring intently at the guard who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Christ no!" John exclaimed just as Sherlock shrugged and said, "Well if we must."

"Sherlock!"

"Problem?" Sherlock said, sounding cool as a cucumber.

"I'm not going to- I won't... Bloody hell! It's an invasion of- Jesus Christ, Sherlock," John rubbed his thumb across his forehead. He felt the twitch coming back with vengeance. Bloody brilliant.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his spluttering before turning back to the guard, "I suppose if we do this we'll be allowed out?"

The guarded nodded.

John gridded his teeth.

Sherlock looked at John and John just stared right back.

Fuck.

"Right. Fine," Before he had even finished his sentence Sherlock was standing in front of the doctor tugging at his wooly jumper. John sighed and lifted up his arms so Sherlock could pull it off of him. Sherlock dropped the jumper to the ground then set his nimble fingers to work on John's undershirt buttons. Once that was off, Sherlock's hands drifted towards the button of John's trousers. John swatted his hands away.

"I can do that myself," he mumbled flushing. It won't do to get excited when it was most definitely Moriarty watching them through the one-way mirror giggling like the psycho he was.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but set to work on removing his own clothing. First the scarf; then the coat; next the Purple Shirt of Sex (as John had fondly taken to calling it.) By the time Sherlock had taken off all of his clothing (save his pants), John had also been stripped of everything but his red Y-fronts. Like he'd said― it had been one of those days.

Sherlock swept his eyes down his blogger and smirked. John scowled and thrust his jumper and undershirt at Sherlock.

"Well, get a move on."

They redressed quickly with some slight struggles on both sides― Sherlock with the fact that most of the clothes were too short and John that all of the clothes were drowning him. They looked down at themselves then looked at each other. Their eyes swept up and down, taking in the too-short trousers and the over-long coat and overall hilarity of how stupid they looked. The two men promptly burst out laughing.

"You look like an idiot!" John exclaimed as he wiped tears out of his eyes.

"You look ridiculous," Sherlock pointed out, smirking.

John grinned and snorted, "You look like a giant who tried to put on a regular blokes clothes!"

"You look like a little boy who tired on his father's clothes," Sherlock retorted.

They looked at each other again and dissolved into more fits of giggles. They were laughing so hard in fact that they didn't notice Moriarty join them in the small room. Well, John didn't notice but Sherlock probably did, being a bloody genius and all.

"Now don't you two just look adorable," He drawled.

"Oh, Christ. It's you," John wasn't really sure why he was surprised. He knew this had to be Moriarty but seeing the man with his stupid far-too-satisfied-for-his-own-good smile still made him mentally shudder.

"Indeed," he said with that serpent smile that gave John the willies.

"Well," Sherlock spread out his arms to show off his new attire. "we played your dress-up game. Can we go now?"

"Hmm, not quite." Moriarty's smile cut across his face.

Sherlock growled, "What now!"

"Not too much," The smaller dark haired man said as he pulled out his phone. "Now pose for the camera!"

Before either of them could react Moriarty snapped a couple of pictures and slipped out of the room followed by the ever awkward looking guard. The sounds of his laughter still echoing around the room.

"Fucking hell," John groaned and buried his face in his hands again. It was becoming something of a habit.

Sherlock sighed and John snuck a peak at him, "They aren't going to let us out anytime soon are they?"

"My dear John, I believe that would be an accurate deduction."

"Bullocks." John began, with Sherlock humming his agreement. "Do you think―"

The door was suddenly busted down by an angry looking Lestrade who was wielding a handgun.

"... Lestrade?" John gasped in astonishment at the inspector detective's shocking appearance.

Lestrade sagged and slowly lowered his gun. He was staring at them with the most particular look on his face.

"Oh my god! What are you two wearing?! Anderson? Anderson, come look!" Sally Donovan exclaimed as she squeezed herself into the doorway next to Lestrade.

Sally's outburst seemed to jolt Lestrade out of his trance. A wide grin split across his face and he started to giggle. Within a few seconds he was doubled over in hysterical laughter. Behind Lestrade's shoulder Anderson popped up with a mobile in hand. He took a few pictures as he smirked to himself. He selected the best and forwarded it to every person working at the New Scotland Yard.

"Damnit," John mumbled blushing furiously. He was staring pointedly at the ground and was refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Sherlock let out a huff of irritation before snatching up his blushing blogger's hand and dragging him out of the room and through the mass of laughing officers.

Oh god it was one of those days.

**End Note: **

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